The three were all laughing in sympathy, Sara on her knees before the
rag-bag, Molly with knife and potato suspended in air, and Morton just
as he had tipped over sidewise on the floor when the baby broke away,
when suddenly Sara gave a quick, piercing cry.

"See! see! O Morton! Morton!" and reached out her arms in a desperate
way, too paralyzed for the instant to rise.

Morton, following her wild glance, echoed the cry, for the supposed wad
of tobacco, uncurling in the heat, was now plainly seen to be--a roll of
greenbacks!

Morton sprang forward and made a lunge for them; Sara, regaining her
wits, did the same, while Molly shrieked and whirled like a dervish, but
alas! it was too late! Their scorched fingers clutched only a crumbling
blackened roll, which fell to pieces in their grasp, and the day's
search for that money, which meant all the difference between comfort
and privation, had ended in a tiny heap of ashes, which a breath would
blow away.

For one long, dazed, dreadful minute Sara and Morton stood gazing at
each other, the boy's blue eyes large as saucers, and Sara's brown ones
turned to black by desperation; then the baby, frightened at the silence
and their strange expressions, began to cry and tug at Sara's dress,
demanding to be taken up.

This broke the spell. Molly gave way to an agony of crying; Morton said
brokenly, "Oh, what will we do?" and Sara, stooping mechanically to lift
the unconscious little cause of all this trouble, gave a long, quivering
sigh, and murmured helplessly, "God only knows!"